PS 3515 
.0765 
P6 
1911 
Copy 1 



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The Pond 



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HOUGHTON 



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THE POND 

AN IDYL OF BOYHOOD 



BY 



William Addison Houghton 



BRUNSWICK, MAINE 

BrunstDtcft H^uhHutfin^ Company 
1911 






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Copyright, 1911 

BY 

BRUNSWICK PUBLISHING CO. 



All rights reserved 









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HAPPY the man whose recollection fond 
Pictures a boyhood passed beside a pond — 
Nay, on it, in it, by its every shore, 
Swimming and boating, skating — evermore 
Delighting in its ever-changing mien, 
Ruffled and dark, or sunny and serene. 

Such was my fortune ; years, and not a few. 
And distance, bar me from that boyhood view, 
But still it glows before the inward eye, 
As painted to the life by memory. 

Within a bowshot of those waters bright 
The homestead stood ; a knoll half hid the sight, 
Yet from my chamber window, north and west, 
I caught that sparkhng beauty half confessed 
Through fringing pines and alders ; oft I heard 
The lapping waves that never strongly stirred ; 
But rending ice would roar with angry boom 
When zero cold had barbed the midnight gloom ; 




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Not Summer's thunder so woke childish dread : 
In sleep, there seemed to hover o' er my bed 
Some ravenous monster growling to be fed. 

Far sweeter sounds in Spring would lull to sleep 
When frogs in timid notes began to peep, 
Then, later, with more genial warmth grown bold, 
Their raucous diapason would unfold. 
Meanwhile below the dam, all down the brook, 
The chubs were running — for the snare and hook 
The season's earhest booty. Close the chase 
'Neath bushes, bridges, nor less close the race 
Among the urchins for the biggest string : 
No small repute such skill was bound to bring. 

But chubs pass quickly : pickerel, perch and pout. 
Shiners and bream, are prey year in, year out ; 
Two feet of ice was no defence secure : 
Still would the lad let down his luscious lure 
That drew the fishes to a heaven above, 
But not, alas ! a home of heavenly love. 
Shiners and bream indeed won small esteem. 
Though few the fish so briUiant as the bream. 
Whose broad flat sides with gorgeous pigments gleam. 
These take the fancy of the tiny boy : 
To land a fish so splendid is his joy; 
Not silly shiners — silvery, yet not gay — 






He dangles, homeward bound, with such display ; 
He bids them be prepared with due respect 
And on the table served with full effect ; 
No trout or salmon, halibut or shad, 
Compare in flavor for the little lad. 

A Httle larger grown, bream, shiners, chubs. 
His views enlarged, he leaves to little bubs. 
Horned pout and eel he angles for at night, 
And on dull days, with bait both big and bright. 
The haunts of pickerel stealthily invades, 
His boat slow-paddled and with muffled blades, 
Or mong the pads knee-deep in mud he wades. 
A skillful cast, a tantalizing troll : 
No pickerel, if he's there, can save his soul ! 
And what a blissful, palpitating thump 
Thrills the keen fisher at a pickerel's jump ! 
But that is all : once on, he's only lead ; 
Still it is hasty to suppose him dead : 
Though never ''game," like lively bass or trout, 
He taught us to respect that shark -like snout. 

Much tamer sport it was, by day or night 
To sit and wait till fish saw fit to bite. 
Yet dulness fled the moment we could feel 
The potent pull of lusty pout or eel ; 
And, landed, each was still ''a proposition;' 



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The ''minister" indeed prayed his petition, 
But still would bite and pierce with ready horn 
His anxious captor not to the manner born ; 
While squirming eel, with deeply swallowed hook, 
Unconscionable time and patience took 
Just when the fish, of course, were biting fast, 
And, Hke as not, he got away at last. — 
Untrammelled joy ! when, where, wilt thou begin? 
Even boyhood sports are moral discipline ! 



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OW Summer heat expands the budding Spring : 
Vacation time ! the Pond ! the Pond's the thing ! 
Boys in the Summer are amphibians : then 
Given a pond, they would be frogs, not men. 
Over the hill they rush in careless glee ; 
(q) The first one in will crow victoriously ; 

Off go the meagre garments on the sand : 
Now 'tis a naked, dashing, splashing band ; 
Some cannot swim, but in the shallows kick. 
Or slap the water with a board or stick. 
Dog-paddle, jump, do every boyish trick ; 
The others plunge far in and boldly dive : 
In water, boys are even more ahve ; 
Now on the back they swim, now calmly float. 
Now clamber into that long-fought-for boat. 




Which madly rocking, quickly out they spill, 
Then rush to turn it over, lest it iill ; 
Perching upon its upturned bottom now. 
Like frogs and turtles basking in a row, 
They rest a httle from their boisterous fun, 

And broil their backs beneath a burning sun 

Not long : these more expert and daring ones 

A pliant spring-board brace with heavy stones, 

Then nimbly running, leap from the lifting end, 

Turning in air, and, head down-bent, descend 

Two fathoms under water, stirring there 

The lazy pouts to leave their deeper lair. 

Breathless, the paddlers watch with envious fear 

Till rods away the divers reappear 

Hailing each other with a sputtering shout : 

He's the best fellow who is furthest out. 

But who strikes flat will feel a touch of woe, 

As one who gets a solar-plexus blow, 

And little sympathy his mates will show ; 

Let him but dive again and do it well. 

All hands will greet him with approving yell : 

Success is all ; all boys are dogmatists : 

*One thing or t'other, with no turns or twists !' 

Such sport for hours these water-sprites enjoy ; 
To be a fish, one need but be a boy. 



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But now the land attracts : they scurry out 
And dripping chase each other round about ; 
Then, wholly dried, they don their clothes in haste; 
On formal toilet they've no time to waste : 
Six other boys, by chance, appear just then. 
And urging call, ''Oh, come on in again !" 
They all go in, of course; it never palls 
Till hunger, or an irate parent calls. 

Some parents less in anger than alarm 
Lest all-day soaking lead to serious harm, 
A boat would offer as a compromise : 
'This, and a half-hour swim a day — no lies!' 
A happy offer this, for all concerned : 
Hence peaceful homes; hence backs less harshly burned, 
Whether by Sol or Paterfamilias — 
Both formerly had brought dire things to pass. 

A boat propelled by paddle, sail or oar. 
E'en though no thing of beauty, evermore 
A joy is to its youthful owner, and 
His many friends, who lend a ready hand, 
Whether the quest be fish or pleasant motion. 
Rapid or quiet, on the mimic ocean. 
What boy does not delight to punt a raft? 
And how much more to speed a nobler craft? 

Toward evening, when the sun, with level light, 




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Shed gleaming gold on pasture, wood and height, 

Our boats were out, well manned for racing, or 

Steered by a girl, rowed by her servitor, 

Both far too young for ties of serious moment. 

Yet early versed in what 'best girl' and 'beau' meant. 

The rowers bend to race the cumbrous boats 

Till loud hurrahs resound from victor throats. 

And mingled with the glad and wholesome cheer, 

Is heard perhaps the gloating boyish jeer; 

The losers bear defeat with Httle grace, 

And glower at one whose 'crab' lost them the race. 

Real boys are far removed from poHtesse : 

In faults and virtues, heirs of the wilderness. 

Meanwhile to some far cove the childish pair 
Have gently steered to gather lilies there ; 
These in her room the Httle maid will treasure. 
Nor will her brother's jests destroy her pleasure, 
Until perchance another boy succeeds 
To favor through choice gifts or valiant deeds ; 
A pretty pup or kitten stirs the heart. 
But any boy who takes the maiden's part. 
Avenging insult, is her noble hero : 
She goes in his boat, whether he or she row ! 




But Summer heats to chilly Autumn wane, 
When bathers blue of pinching cold complain, 
And boats no more their Summer charm retain. 
After a Summer splashing in the pond. 
We boys spent Autumn round it and beyond ; 
Chestnuts we gathered, walnuts, cranberries red, 
But dark blue waters cold filled us with dread. 
Some bigger boys, indeed, robust and bold. 
Boasted themselves superior to the cold : 
Of these, a brother I was proud to own. 
Whom Fast Day found in-swimming, though alone, 
And not until Thanksgiving would he stop. 
Although, by then, the ice he had to chop. 
Such fortitude could not but be admired. 
But we, to practice it, could not be hired, 
Yet, as boys will, we dearly loved to brag 
Of brothers big whose forces could not flag. 

Wild duck there were and sometimes passing geese. 
But these were few and mostly left in peace 
By us young lads whose parents' wholesome fears 
Restricted guns to those of riper years. 
Allowing us our snares, rods, spears and traps, 
Thinking it quite enough for httle chaps 
To capture fish, woodchuck, muskrat and rabbit. 
Then nobler game, if we had wit to nab it. 

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The Autumn brought the pond a well-earned rest, 
And fitly then it donned its Sabbath-best : 
Around the shores gleamed maples many-hued, 
And oaks of richest tints, though more subdued, 
While on the slopes the pines, with sombre green, 
Frame memory' s picture of that lovely scene. 
On Indian Summer days, when all was calm 
And, for the moment, all the air was balm. 
Deep in the waveless pond inverted stood 
The mirrored forms of hill and rising wood, 
A doubled mass of colors, crowned with blue. 
On blue reposing, both of purest hue. 

What change ! November's frost and raging storm 
That realm of peace vindictively transform ; 
Torn is their glorious raiment from the trees, 
That shrink, outraged, before the ruffian breeze, 
In lowering skies the Powers of 111 prevail. 
While waves of lead the sodden shore assail 
And all things join in Nature's dying wail. 

THE morning dawns, crisp and divinely clear -, 
A keener frost proclaims the Winter near ; 
Already on the pond, round shallow edges. 
Thin films of ice among the reeds and sedges. 
With what a thrill we youngsters hail the token, 




But grieve that ice so easily is broken ! 
A fortnight more to wait ! it may be, longer ! 
Still, all the while the ice is getting stronger ; 
It covers all the pond, though still too thin : 
Three reckless boys who tried to skate, got in. 

But now a bitter night has come at last, 
Almost to zero, and the pump sticks fast ! 
Before the sun is up the boys are there : 
"Say, fellows, is it thick enough to bear?" — 
"Two inches thick ! come on ! the skating' s bully !" 
On go the skates, though not yet mastered fully : 
Oh, what a joy on smoothest ice to ghde ! 
Or, even skateless, what delight to slide ! 
Breakfast or school is but a minor thing — 
' Hang it there goes again that breakfast ring !' 
Why stop to eat when ice we have like this ! 
Then drone in school and glorious weather miss ! 

School was a burden that momentous day : 
'Twas four o'clock ere we could get away 
From words and numbers to what really mattered ; 
Then, not a moment wasted, off we clattered, 
Only to find the pond already dark ; 
But moonlight made it a romantic park. 
And whether full-moon or no moon at all, 
A bonfire served a purpose capital : 



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O'ergrown with alders was a little isle : 

Dry wood we gather there and hugely pile 

Close on the shore, and in its blazing light, 

We could defy the bugaboos of night ; 

Even moonless nights we ventured, slightly daunted, 

Near lonely coves some fellows claimed were haunted. 

A boy in -swimming is well exercised. 
But skating is an art more civiUzed. 
Both brutes and savages delight to swim ; 
'Tis fine to cleave the wave with lusty limb ; 
A sense of triumph adds delicious verve : 
Water would drown, but now is made to serve ; 
And vanquished in its struggle to possess. 
Fondles the victor with feline caress. 
Boys only clad in Nature's garb and prone 
In her engulfing element seem one 
With Nature's self, and in her fond embrace 
Instinctively take on her agile grace — 
The grace by Nature to perfection bred 
In swan and serpent, fish and quadruped ; 
But on two feet, well clothed, on speedy skates, 
Subduing Nature to their own dictates. 
Boys seem like men, not higher vertebrates ; 
And boy and girl together put on ice 
Will heep^ — I can assure the most precise. 

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So thought we all, and so we coasted, skated. 
As merry mates, being ever ani-mated 
With a due sense of what was really fitting, 
Even though we had no chaperon with her knitting. 
Some girls could skate, and in the games we played. 
Not seldom boys were captured by a maid ; 
And any girl who couldn't skate, but would, 
Found gallant aid until she really could. 
But being told she couldn't, understood. 
Nor would decline such aid, no longer needed. 
Nor precious growth in self-reliance heeded. 
Trusting, no doubt, the law of compensation 
Which in such cases works to admiration. 

Nature, though kind, unkind too oft appears : 
Or, is it kindness to bring boys to tears? 
Kindly she froze the Pond as smooth as glass, 
Gladdened the heart of many a lad and lass, 
But, ah ! how soon to grief did gladness turn ! 
How hard was hidden kindness to discern ! 
''What boots fond love that boots me down the stair?' 
Cried one thus lovingly assisted there. 

There came a snow — a deep, o'erwhelming snow ! 
All buried lay our ice two feet below ! 
Our Pond Beloved, now merely a white prairie, 
For us was ruined, as by some fell fairy. 

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But no, it should not be ! young arms protested 
Our ice from Nature's bungling should be wrested ! 
With shovels, a brigade forthwith appeared, 
And by hard work for many an hour, we cleared 
Long avenues and splendid open spaces ; 
With brooms hkewise the girls, like busy graces — 
Now women, with the besom of reform. 
Cleansing the country from corruption's storm — 
Followed the shovels, and the day was won ; 
Our rink was earned and paid us twice the fun. 

Nature took note, and for our just reward. 
Melted the Pond's white burden — the abhorred — 
Then froze anew : — snow-ice, and rough in parts, 
But we accepted it with grateful hearts. 
And that we still in Providence might trust. 
She paved the hills with icy, iron crust : 
These later years, has she forgotten how 
To forge that crust that oxen could not plough ? 
Certain it is, I cannot find it now. 
I cannot think a hundred pounds more weight 
Makes all the difference at this later date, 
As Lowell said — as boy, snow-crust I've seen, 
A horse could walk on without breaking in. 
Then might we skate at large o'er hill and dale, 
And rarely would the ice beneath us fail; 

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But then the sport huperial was to coast, 

And still the Pond, as ever, drew us most : 

Down the steep hill on path of ice the sled 

The Pond's full width, with darting swiftness, sped, 

Up the low knoll far on the further side, 

Where only brakes and brush would stop the slide. 

A seeming drawback was that after-chmb : 
It was indeed a task of toil and time ; 
The Pond we quickly slid, but that long hill 
Of slippery crust went hard with Jack and Jill; 
Yet toil disguised itself as frolic sport ; 
Though long and hard, easy it seemed and short; 
Much Hke the Winter : really hard and long. 
But, to us youngsters, just a jolly song. 

Still, when marked tokens told of dawning Spring, 
Our thoughts grew busy with what that would bring : 
Without regret we saw the Sun of March 
Suck from the icy crust its iron starch. 
Saw on the Pond the widening streaks of blue, 
Then copious rains that roused the freshet due, 
Till down the dam — foiled Winter's frantic act — 
On raging waters, in a chaos packed. 
Crashed grinding ice in roaring cataract. 

So seasons came and passed, till, boys no more, 
They drove us on to manhood's larger lore; 

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Yet till the world's imperious command 
Scattered us widely up and down the land, 
Man-grown, we sought the Pond in Winter, Spring, 
Summer and Autumn, never wearying, 
And ever, when returning to those haunts, 
Whether gay June her sumptuous beauty flaunts. 
Or grim December boasts his ice — as then, 
We swim or skate, and dream we're boys again. 



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